


Family Gained and Lost

by Ranni



Series: Mirrors [3]
Category: Avengers, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers assembling, Clint Barton BAMF, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt/Comfort, Loki Does What He Wants, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Natasha Romanov BAMF, Phil Coulson is worried, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 09:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9715646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranni/pseuds/Ranni
Summary: When Natasha gained her SHIELD family and then lost it; then joined a superhero band of misfits, and lost them all, too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This follows my other story, "Mirrors".

Year One

Phil was younger than Natasha would have guessed, but still a father figure, all competence and quiet authority. He was the planner, the protector, the one that held the balloon string and kept the rest of them from floating away. Clint looked to the man with almost slavish devotion, everything Phil did was right in his eyes, and he would hear absolutely nothing to the contrary. 

Silverfish was actually Douglas Gaines, a man so tall and broad that Natasha had actually gasped when she first saw him. It was unbelievable to her that such a man could be a spy, how he could ever sneak in anywhere was beyond her understanding, but Silver had been in Shield longer than even Phil and had hundreds of successful missions under his belt. For the first few weeks he had watched Natasha with suspicious eyes, but finally came to accept her. He teased mercilessly, endlessly. Clint was his favorite target, but the younger man was so easygoing that they made a good pair.

The next year flew by. Much if it was hard as she adjusted to a new country, new people, new expectations. But so much of it was good.

******

Clint and Laura's wedding--the first wedding she had ever been to. It was very small, with Phil, Silverfish, Natasha and Nick Fury there, as well as a few of Laura's girlfriends. Laura wore a white sundress. After they kissed Cooper had yelled out "Daddy, Daddy!" and ran to Clint, who took him in his arms, swung the little boy high, laughing.

******  
  
Phil teaching her to drive, quizzing her over the handbook. Not saying anything when she ran over the curb. She never did it again.

*****  
  
Many--too many--nicknames from Silverfish, who showed his love through unrelenting taunting and (mostly) good natured insults.

"Just roll with it," Clint had advised. "Or he'll make it worse. A lot worse." And after a while she had come to learn he was right, that no amount of glaring and angry silence would ever stop someone as tenacious as Silver.

So she had grown used to being called "Girlie" and "Girlie Q" and "Dollface". Then came "Natty Bumppo", the nickname that delighted him most and perplexed her. Finally Clint had told her that before she had arrived _he_ had been "Natty Bumppo".

"That doesn't make any sense at all."

"Sure it does," he explained, while Silverfish's grin grew wider and wider. "It's the name of the main character in 'Last of the Mohicans', and can you guess what that character's nickname is?"

She shook her head.

"Hawkeye!" Silverfish crowed, unable to contain himself. "Natty Bumppo's nickname is Hawkeye! Oh man! It's all so perfect it's like God ordained it. Hallelujah!" He was so gleeful that even Natasha laughed a little.

"As nicknames go, there are worse," Clint sighed. "I mean, I find it hard to feel too sorry for you when I've been referred to as 'Assface' conversationally for the last eleven years."

He and Natasha exchanged shrugs, and Silverfish laughed and clapped Clint on the back.

*****

Their first Christmas all together they had at Phil's house. Silverfish had a big family and was with them; Natasha missed him a bit but mostly enjoyed the break.

Cooper squealed with childish delight over every present and his excitement was foreign to her but fun to watch. Laura gave Natasha a scarf and hugged her. Phil rolled his eyes with good humor when he opened his gift from Clint, another tie.

"Every damned year, Barton," he grumbled. He wore it the next day.

Natasha gave Clint a Scooby Doo Pez dispenser and he had laughed so hard tears rolled down his cheeks.

*****

Sometimes they talked about Jim Campion, who had been their handler before Phil. "A good guy", they would say, every time, and that's how Natasha would always think of him. Jim Campion: A Good Guy.

In the Quinjet, on their way to Mexico City, Clint rifled through a bunch of CDs. He held up one to Silverfish and smiled. "Remember this?" he asked. "You know who it makes me think of?"

"Ol' Slim Jim," Silverfish said with a grin. He took the CD and put it in the player.

Wait for it, Natasha thought. Wait for it...

"He was a good guy," Clint said with a sigh, and Natasha inwardly did a fist pump.

"Did he die?" she asked. He must have, he was always spoken of in past tense. "Did he die in the field?"

It was Phil who answered. "No, he had a heart attack, in his office."

They were all quiet. The music was low.

"He was a good guy," Clint said again, softly.

  
*****

At the range, all four of them shooting pistols, Clint and Silver showing off, Phil and Natasha all grim accuracy.

"Look at the kick on this baby. Hey! Look at it!" Silver shouted at Clint, his face only inches away to make sure the other man heard through his headphones. Clint made a face at him, then lightning quick, reached up and tweaked Silver's nose before the bigger man could move away. "You pisser!" Silver swiped back but Clint easily ducked out of the way. Barton was quick.

Phil looked over, frowned. He hated roughhousing on the range and held up a hand. Natasha stopped firing and took off her headphones. Clint and Silverfish, looking slightly chagrined, pulled theirs off as well.

"Problem, boys?" Phil asked, his quiet displeasure obvious.

"No problem here, Phil," Clint said virtuously, pointing to his perfect target. Silver coughed and muttered "Brown noser" under his breath.

"Of course not, Clint never misses," Natasha said loyally. She had not missed either.

Silverfish rolled his eyes, and Phil snorted. "I've seen him miss."

Clint gave him a startled look of betrayal. "You have not!"

"You missed that time South Africa. Missed by a mile, as I recall." Phil calmly emptied his pistol.

"What the hell, that doesn't count!" Clint was scandalized. "I was on fire at the time! On _fire_!"

Phil shrugged. "A miss is a miss," he said mildly.

Clint sputtered some more, then stomped angrily out. Silverfish, who couldn't stand for Clint to be picked on by anyone but him, frowned at Phil and scolded "Not cool, Candyman," and quickly followed.

Natasha raised her eyebrows at Phil, who smiled at her and winked.

*****

Silverfish, in one of his rare serious moments, thanking her.

"You brought him back," he said, looking over at Clint, who sat working on reports with Phil. "He was slipping away and I didn't know how to pull him back to us. Then, in Russia, he disappeared, and I thought he had...well, you can guess what I thought. And then he brought you in, and he was happy again, and I was so relieved. I don't get it, what it is you guys have together. But whatever it is, whatever it is the two of you feel for each other, it brought him back." He put his hand on hers. "That's enough for me."

"He saved me, too," she said.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Year Two

"You know what Clint reminds me of?" Silver drawled into what had been a comfortable silence. Natasha and Clint looked up, both had been cleaning their weapons.

"A younger, handsomer Paul Newman?" Clint guessed, an exaggeratedly hopeful expression on his face.

"Ha, you wish, Assface," Silver shot back. Clint sighed dramatically and Natasha smirked. She didn't know who Paul Newman was, but she could see it was a joke. Clint was playing along and it was all in good fun. It was a joke and a smile was the right response. It still was not natural to her, but she had learned to make it appear natural.

"No, Clint reminds me of one of those big dogs that families get," Silver went on, undeterred. "The kind of dog that could be powerful, could rip faces off if it wanted, but instead does silly tricks to please its masters. That lets the kids hang from its neck and dress it up. One of those big teddy bear dogs that lays in a patch of sunlight as happy as a fucking clam."

"Jesus." Clint said mildly, but he wasn't smiling now, looked a little insulted. "Well, woof woof, I guess. Just call me Fido. Hey, Nat," he said, turning to her, "you know what Dougie reminds me of?"

"A seven foot tall jello mold with better hair and less personality?"

Clint laughed and Silver whooped with glee; he loved any joke at his own expense.

  
"You should see me dance, Natty Bumppo," he said to her. "I AM like jello, all smooth moves." He waved his arms around fluidly, jiggling the bed. Clint grabbed his bow case before it tumbled off the edge. Natasha laughed at them.

They were stuck in a tiny safehouse in Poland, having finished a mission earlier than expected. Extraction would not come for another four days, and they were to lie low until then. "Pretend you're on vacation," Phil had suggested unsympathetically over the comm. "Sleep in, watch TV, and maybe, just maybe, finish your mission reports before they are actually due. You know, be wild."

The first day they had been exhausted. Silverfish had started the laundry ("I'm washing Hawk's clothes separately, you ever heard of deodorant? You smell like straight funk, kid. God!") and Clint took inventory of the tiny kitchen and pantry. "Not bad" had been his verdict of the supplies, but his palate was untrustworthy and Natasha and Silver had exchanged skeptical looks. After a shower Natasha had dug out the slim, tiny laptop they shared and plugged it in. "Want to go first?" she asked Silverfish.

It went without saying that Clint would go last. He typed his reports out laboriously with two fingers in a hunt and peck style, groaning with frustration the entire time. Silverfish had learned to type in high school ("On an actual typewriter, ha!!") and was wickedly fast at it, even more so because his reports always contained the absolute minimum of information. For a few weeks Natasha had watched his hands move over the keyboard, studying them with an intensity that didn't faze him at all, until finally she could touchtype herself, slowly at first, then catching up in speed. Clint had glowered at her new skill and attempted to hunt and peck more quickly.

"You go ahead, Baby Doll, I'm gonna sleep."

Natasha pursed her lips at the pet name, her least favorite, but she had long ago accepted that he would not give up using it, or any of the dozen others. She perched on one of the two double beds and started wading through electronic forms. Silver stretched out on the other bed with a groan of pleasure and was lightly snoring in moments. His long legs hung off the end a little. Clint stuck something in the oven and headed to the bathroom for a shower. Noticed her watching him walk by and waggled his hips suggestively as he passed. She shook her head, smiling, and heard him laughing to himself as the water ran.

A few minutes later he came out dressed in pajama pants, the last clean clothes he had until the laundry was done, and dropped into bed beside Silverfish. He had known, instinctively, from the first that she would not share a bed, and the three had come to a silent agreement to rotate which two would get safehouse beds, while the third camped out on the floor. When they were all exceptionally tired the two men shared a bed without complaint. Or almost without--Silverfish had a habit of stealing the covers.

So that first day they had rested, the second day they had played cards and finished reports--Clint last, of course, gritting his teeth and griping the entire time. Clint called Laura on the phone and they all took turns talking to her and Cooper. But by this, the third day, they had nothing left to do but watch Polish television and pick on one another.

"Clint the dog," Silverfish picked up that train of thought again. "Actually, you could be one of those pug dogs, with your big ol' googly eyes." He widened his own eyes comically, batting his lashes at Clint, who scoffed and snapped his gun back together a little more loudly than necessary.

"You'd be a Saint Bernard," he shot back, "with one of those little barrels of brandy at your neck and a gallon of drool running down your chin, you big bastard."

Silverfish laughed and then raised an eyebrow at Natasha.

"Don't _even_ think of comparing me to a dog," she warned, and he laughed again.

"We could play cards," Clint suggested, always the peacemaker.

"I don't wanna play cards, the Russian cheats."

She smirked and did not deny it.

"In a few hours we can call Laura. It's too early in the day now."

"Have phone sex with your woman on your own time, pervert."

Clint scowled at that and Natasha felt herself tense. Boredom could bring out a mean edge in Silver's teasing, and though the two men rarely argued for real, it quickly turned personal and ugly when they did. They had worked together twelve years and had a lot of emotional ammunition. She tucked away the cleaning case, put the weapons back in her pack.

"Show me how to cook something," she suggested to Silverfish. He had been teaching her to make American foods ("Just add more sugar and it becomes more American!") or at least dishes that he claimed were American ("The USA has annexed pizza. It's ours now.") Silverfish grumbled to himself but got up and went into the kitchen, Natasha trailing behind him. She glanced back at Clint. He was still frowning, but picked up the remote control and turned on a talk show, allowing himself to be distracted out of the bad moment. She breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Silverfish ended up teaching her to make french toast--also an American product, he insisted. They sat around eating it until they were uncomfortably full, then watched "Twilight" in Polish, Clint and Silverfish laughing the whole time and shouting "Kill her, Edward!" at the television. Before going to sleep that night the three of them discussed holiday plans, deciding to spend Thanksgiving next month at the Bartons' house. Natasha thought she might bring mashed potatoes.

But in the end she brought nothing, because Clint spent Thanksgiving in the hospital, and Silverfish was dead.


	3. Chapter 3

Year Two, continued

  
Natasha hadn't been on the mission, having broken her wrist three days before in training. At the time the break had been nothing but a painful annoyance, but as she looked back through the years the injury had taken on a greater importance in her mind. If it had not broken, she would have been there. She might have been able to save Silverfish, or keep Clint from getting shot and _he_ could have saved Silver. Or she could have gotten them to medics faster and then maybe Silver would have lived.

Or maybe nothing would have changed and she would have died also.

It was never completely clear what had happened, as Silver was dead and could not tell them, and Clint had been terribly injured and his recollection of the entire thing imperfect. From what Natasha and Phil pieced together from the scene, the wounds, and the little Clint could contribute, the mission had gone to hell fast. The two men had been sent to gather intel from a lab, and had discovered a small private army awaiting them.

" _Let's get the fuck out of here!_ " Silver's gruff words had been urgent, but not panicked, and were the last to come clearly through the comms. Clint had answered, but his response had been muffled and indecipherable as everything exploded into gunfire.

Of course they had taken the enemies out; with the two of them working together that was guaranteed. But in doing so both men had been shot, and attempted--and failed--to make it to the extraction point. One had tried to drag the other for quite a distance, and Phil guessed that it had been Clint doing the dragging, since Silverfish had likely been bleeding out by then, if not already dead. Clint had almost bled to death himself by the time the extraction team found them. They lay side by side in a sea of red, Clint's arm slung over Silverfish's still body.

Natasha sat by Clint's hospital bed for the long hours after his surgery. He had been shot in the upper chest, between his heart and shoulder. She had brought a book that she didn't even attempt to read, instead watching his pale face and wishing he would wake up. And also wishing he wouldn't, because she knew the first question he would ask. Dreaded answering it.

Naturally Clint started to stir as soon as Phil left the room for more coffee. His hand twitched, then tightened, clutching the hospital blanket as his eyelids dragged open.

"Hi, you," she said softly. She wanted to touch his face, stroke his hair, do those comforting things that loved ones did in hospitals. He would like that, she thought. But it was not in her, to touch so casually. She wished that it was.

She remembered the mission in Russia, when Clint had gotten knocked out. They were safe at that point, but she had shaken his shoulder vigorously anyway, wanting him to wake up so they could get a move on. It was not smart to delay when they did not need to. Silverfish had grabbed her hand and pulled it away from Clint.

"You want to watch it, Girlie," he had said. "When he's himself, in his right mind, this kid is all sunshine. Ain't no one better. But times like now, when he's coming back from being unconscious? Then you want to stand back, because he can be a real dillhole."

Clint had proven his point a few minutes later, fists swinging and eyes looking around wildly, struggling instinctively to get away from everything, anything. Silver batted the clumsy punches away easily, then hauled Clint's body up and held him tightly. "It's okay Clint, you're okay. It's me and Natasha. You're okay." Stroked Clint's hair with his large dark hand, mindful of the growing bruise on his head, gentle as anyone Natasha had ever seen. "That's it, come on back now. Atta baby, come on back."

Now Clint reached up slowly with his one good hand and yanked off his nasal cannula, then pulled hard with the same hand until his IV tore out if it, spraying God knew what medicine into the air before the tubing fell to the floor. This seemed to take all the energy Clint had, and he did nothing else but pant and look around in confusion as he sank, exhausted, back onto his pillow.

"You're okay," she told him, though he wasn't, as she pressed the call button. "He's awake and pulled out his IV," she told the nurse that answered over the room intercom. "He's also not in his right mind, so watch yourself. Maybe bring along a friend or two." They would know that, they would know he woke badly, it was in his medical file. But Natasha didn't want to be one of the ones to hold him down to get a new IV, not when he was hurt and if she could help it. "You're okay," she said again, trying to make her voice soothing. "We have you." She reached out and patted him awkwardly on the leg.

He groaned and pushed her hands away weakly. Natasha reached for him again and he struck at her. There was no strength behind the hit, but the intent was clear. Hands off.  
  
Phil arrived then with the nurse, who brought along two large orderlies. Angry, wild agents were no oddity in Shield Medical, and between the three of them Clint was sorted out quickly. By then Clint had mostly come back to his senses, Phil reassuring him, orienting him, the entire time.

"Mmmmbmmbmmm," Clint mumbled weakly. His face was pained.

"You're okay," Phil said again. "You're okay." His fingers combed through Clint's hair, the way she wished hers could have.

Natasha closed her eyes. Her chest felt tight. " _Atta baby, come on back_ ," Silverfish whispered in her mind. She swallowed, pushed the thought of him away.

_Go away, Doug. You're dead._

They thought he would fall back asleep, but Clint did not, pushing through the medication and exhaustion, trying so hard to form words. They weren't coming out right, not yet, but it didn't matter. Phil knew what he was asking, the only thing he _would_ ask at this moment.

"Doug didn't make it," Phil said quietly. He held Clint's good hand in both of his. "He was shot in the neck and he didn't make it."

Clint made a soft, anguished sound and closed his eyes. Then he opened them, looking, looking for her. Natasha came closer, and Phil moved away. She did hold his hand this time, raised it to her mouth, kissed the back of it gently, mindful of the IV.  
  
There were only three of them now. Only the three of them left.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Year Five

  
Natasha had finally moved off base and gotten an apartment in the city. It was the first time she had had her own place.

  
"A room of one's own," Phil said, kissing her on the cheek. She had invited them over for dinner. He brought her a plant.

  
"It will die when I go on a mission," she warned, but she had been pleased. "Who will water it?"

  
Phil shrugged. He had given the gift, it was not his responsibility any more. He went into the tiny kitchen, lifted a lid, peered into a pot. "What can I do? Can I help in here?"

  
"It's under control." Phil nodded and sat on the couch.

  
There was sound at the door. A long tap, then three quick ones. Morse Code,"B" for Barton. Clint. Natasha opened the door to let him in.

  
"Phil said to bring a present, so I brought cookies. I hope that's right." He kissed her cheek and walked inside, a small package in his hands. He had wrapped it in Shield report forms in lieu of wrapping paper. He whistled. "Nice place, Nat. Nice place."

  
"It's small," she said a little defensively. _But it's mine_ , she did not add. "You are welcome to stay here any time."

  
Clint smiled at her, threw the package at Phil, who snagged it effortlessly out of the air.

  
"You didn't make these yourself, did you?" Phil asked suspiciously. He had expressly forbidden Clint to cook after a taco incident.

  
"Hell no, I can't make cookies." Clint looked at Natasha. "Fury is on his way up. He was having trouble parking. I jumped out the car window and walked."

  
"Nice."

  
A few minutes later Nick Fury arrived, flushed. He greeted Phil and Natasha, snarled at Clint. He had bought a present as well, a smoke detector. The man was nothing if not practical.

  
Dinner was a success. Phil did the dishes and Fury insisted on installing the smoke detector. Clint fell asleep on her new couch, snoring softly. Fury took the leftover wrapping paper and stuffed it into Clint's open mouth. He leapt up, startled and gagging, while the others laughed.

  
An hour later Fury motioned to the others. "Time to get back. You should ride with us, Phil."

  
"Shotgun!" Clint called, and kissed her cheek again. She hugged him. He followed Fury out.

  
"Enjoy the plant," Phil said, and kissed her also. She shut the door behind him.

  
It was strange, not leaving with them.

  
But kind of nice.

 

Year Seven

  
Budapest.  

  
She sat in the bathtub so she would not get blood on the carpet while Clint stitched her back and shoulder. It hurt like a motherfucker. She took a long drink from the bottle of vodka. "What a disaster," she said. Her voice caught a little with the pain.

  
"A real shitshow," Clint agreed. He finished the stitches and taped gauze over it. Kissed the bandage gently. "Don't get hurt anymore, because my first aid stuff is tapped out. Actually, just don't get hurt again, period." He went to the sink, rinsed her blood off his hands.

  
She pulled herself out of the bathtub. Ran the water to wash the blood away.

  
Clint went over to the window, jumped up onto the sill, perched there silently, sharp eyes searching.  "Sleep for a bit," he suggested. His face was tense, wary.

  
Natasha took another long drink, the last one. She needed a painkiller, but getting drunk would be a very bad idea right now. She closed the bottle. "We should not linger," she warned.

  
"You lost a lot of blood and should rest," he disagreed. _You scared me_ , his eyes said. _Don't scare me_.  "It's not getting any better out there, and we should sleep if we can."

  
He was right. She lay down on the filthy floor, good arm pillowed under her head. Clint nodded at her and returned to his watch. She kept her eyes on him until they closed.

 

She had been scared for him, too.

  
*******

  
There was no hope of a Shield pickup, they agreed. They would have to get out on their own, but with police and the military and God knew how many bad guys looking for them it would not be easy. They checked their ammunition. There was not much left.

  
"Shoot smart," Natasha advised with a shrug, then winced. Her back hurt.

  
"Phil won't believe we are dead. Won't." Clint sounded sure of it, but his eyes were worried. Of course it didn't matter what Phil thought; he was half a world away in Washington DC. But she knew Clint couldn't stand the idea, the idea of Phil thinking they were dead.  Mourning them. Maybe even telling Laura her husband was gone.

  
"He won't," Clint repeated, whispered it to himself this time.

  
"Get your game face on, Hawkeye," she said to him, and he nodded. Already the worry was bleeding out, replaced by grim determination, a mirror of her own.

  
"I say we go to ground. Blend in, stay low, and then work our way out."

  
Natasha hated the idea, but knew they would not last long in a shootout, not with their dwindling supplies. "Alright. I will be a young, brilliant botanist, and you can be my florist boyfriend." She smirked at him. "No? Maybe I'll be a schoolteacher this time. Or a milkmaid. Could I pull off a milkmaid, do you think?"

  
He frowned at her. "We might not make it back this time." His eyes searched hers.

  
"Maybe not." She lay her hand on the side of his face. "But we'll be together."

 

 

Year Nine

  
"Look at this asshole," someone said.

  
The television was on in the common room as Natasha and Clint passed through, sweaty from the training room. A group of agents had gathered around it.

  
Tony Stark was on the screen. "I _am_ Ironman," he said.

  
"Holy shit," Clint said under his breath. He rolled his eyes. " _Ironman_ , honestly."

  
Natasha had a strange feeling. Of something beginning.

  
*******

  
Natasha had a mission on her own, to observe and protect Tony Stark. Fury wanted him to be a part of Shield, to bring Ironman to his Avengers Initiative. She sighed and opened the mission brief again, thumbing through the pages.

  
"Natalie Rushman," Clint read over her shoulder. " _Natalie Rushman_? Who came up with that? Geez, they are barely trying anymore." He shook his head in disbelief. He noticed something else. She sighed. Of course he did; he noticed everything. "What's this?"

  
"It's to draw him in. He's a lecher." There were pictures, pictures they had taken of her to provide the backstory of a modeling career. She was a little embarrassed for him to see, but pulled them out anyway. Clint's eyes widened.

  
"Aw, look at these! Pretty, someone's pretty," he admired, and she snorted at him. Then Clint came across some of the more risqué shots and he gaped. "No! Nope! Nooooooooope!" He closed the file quickly, threw it on the floor. "Eyes, unsee! UNSEE!"

  
She laughed at him.

  
*****

  
"He was big, too, like _really_ big." Clint gestured expansively. She kicked his feet off her coffee table.

  
"So he was big." She shrugged. "People are big all the time."

  
"Not like this," Clint shook his head. "Huge, a _huge_ guy, like Silverfish kind of huge."

  
She whistled. That was different altogether.

  
"Aliens," Clint marveled. "Aliens are a thing now. A real thing."

  
"And they look just like us," Natasha found that the hardest part to believe.

  
"Yeah," he agreed. He scooped a handful of her macadamia nuts into his mouth, put his feet back on the coffee table. "Except, you know," his voice was muffled. " _Big_."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapter made mention of events from "Ironman 1 and 2", and referred somewhat obliquely to "Thor". This chapter, and all the ones that follow, will assume the Reader has seen "Avengers" and "Avengers: Age of Ultron", or they might not make much sense.

Year Ten

She and Phil went to the Bartons' house for Christmas, as they had for years.

Cooper was eleven years old now, which Natasha found incredible to believe. It made her realize she and Clint and Phil were getting older too. She was thirty now, still young, but no longer a girl. Hawkeye was forty, his body still strong, no aches and pains catching up with him just yet. He was younger even than Silverfish had been when she had met him, all those years ago. She pushed such thoughts away. There were young still. They were not too old.

Little Lila asked if they could get a dog for Christmas. "Ask your mother," Clint advised, before scurrying from the room.

"Coward!" Natasha called after him. Heard him laughing.

That year she gave Clint a pair of sunglasses with purple lenses, to his utter delight. He gave her a necklace with a tiny gold arrow on it. "So you'll always have one if you need it," he said with a wink.

He gave Phil another tie, and as usual, Phil wore it the next day.

 

*****

 

"Guard duty?" Clint asked incredulously. "You need a master marksman for guard duty? The world is so safe that we've come to _this_?"

"The Tesseract could be dangerous, and I want my best man watching things," Phil told him.

"If you wanted the best, you'd send Natasha," Clint grumbled, tossing the file on the table. She snickered at him, and he gave her a rueful smile back. "Seriously, though, what the hell, Phil? Guard duty." He wrinkled his nose.

"I need sharp eyes on this," Phil said seriously, "and who is better than our Hawkeye?" Clint groaned dramatically, crossed his arms. "And Natty is going to Russia."

"I should go with her."

Natasha laughed at him. After all this time, he still felt like he had to watch out for her. It was more endearing than insulting now.

"No, you shouldn't." Phil was getting irritated. "Give me a few months work in New Mexico, and I think I can arrange you two weeks off to spend at the farm."

It was the one thing that would always work--dangling time with his family like a carrot in front of Clint's nose. He knew he was being placated, didn't care. His face lit up in excitement, and he beamed at Natasha.

She smiled back, happy because he was happy.

Clint left the following week. She walked with him to the plane, held his hand a moment.

"Come back, Hawkeye," she told him. They always said it.

Clint grinned. "I'll come back."

 

******

 

A month later Loki the Trickster stepped through the Tesseract, and stole him from her.

A phone call from Phil, in the middle of her mission. _Barton's been compromised ._ She would hear those words in nightmares for years afterwards. The only words that could hurt her, the only words that could bring her on the run.

 

******

She had gotten Clint back, ending three days of terror, her heart finally able to beat normally again. And he might have been okay, might have gotten past Loki stealing his soul, turning him into a weapon. He might have forgiven himself more easily, if not for one thing.

Loki had killed Phil Coulson.

They found out after the battle. After Loki had been sent back with Thor to whatever hell he had come from. Fury had kept Phil's death from her and Clint, and the other Avengers had not mentioned it. Would not have known, anyway, how much Phil had meant to them.

But Fury had known, and he had waited.

She was, days later, still exhilarated from the fight and the relief of getting Clint back. Fury could not look at them as he delivered the news. "Stabbed through the heart" was the last thing Natasha had heard. She clutched for Clint. His eyes were wide with shock. He said nothing.

Loki had taken everything from her, hurt her in the only ways she could be hurt. He had killed Phil Coulson. He had broken Clint Barton. She felt as if her own heart had been the one pierced.

There was only the two of them now. Only the two of them left.

 

******

 

Natasha and Clint held hands at Phil Coulson's graveside, orphans again.

Neither cried, but Clint's face was pale and pained. His shoulders sagged. Natasha stood up as straight as she could. She could be strong for them both.

After the service she nodded in the direction of Steve Rogers and Bruce Banner. "I'm going to go say hello," she told Clint. "Want to come with me?"

He shook his head, didn't look at her, didn't look at anyone. Stared at Phil's grave. She was worried about him.

Natasha worked her way over to Bruce and Steve. "Hi, guys, thank you for coming."

"Of course," Bruce answered, while at the same time Steve shook her hand and said "Miss Romanov" in greeting.

"Natasha," she reminded him, and he nodded.

"Agent Coulson was a good man," Steve said. "He didn't deserve--"

Natasha was distracted then by raised voices. Bruce and Steve also looked over sharply.

"-- _shouldn't be here_ " she heard, and "-- _a lot of nerve_ \--"

She was on the move immediately, elbowing people ruthlessly, pushing her way back to where Clint stood in the middle of a small group of angry Shield agents. He did not cower, but stood there with his head down, taking their words, not defending himself.

"-- _when it's your fault_ \--"

"Stop it," she snapped. "How dare you! How _dare_ you!"

"Oh, look," Agent Wen drawled. "His guard dog is here." He gave an ugly laugh, and the others joined him. The Black Widow in her screamed, wanting to fight, wanting to hurt them.

"Nope." Tony Stark appeared suddenly, walking briskly through the crowd and linking one arm with Natasha, the other with Clint, pulling them along. "Nope, nope, nope, nope times infinity. Fuck you very much, fellas, but we have an appointment." He steered them toward his waiting limo. "Toodles!" he called back breezily.

Clint got in without protest and Natasha slid in beside him. Tony sat across from them, with Pepper Potts. His eyes were concerned, so were hers. To Natasha's surprise Steve got in the limo as well, squishing her uncomfortably between his body and Clint's. Steve took up a lot of room, and gave her an apologetic look. Bruce Banner slid into the seat with Tony and Pepper, looking nervous.

Fury stood outside the door. "He okay?" he asked Natasha, tilting his head toward Clint. She scowled at him, shook her head once.

" _Exemplary_ behavior by your staff today, Nick, absolutely first class," Tony bit. "What the hell, man? At a funeral, even."

Clint dropped his head into his hands, and Natasha put a protective arm around him, still angry. Fury sighed. "I don't think you should come back to headquarters just yet. I'll find a place--"

"They're coming with us," Tony interrupted, and slammed the door in Nick Fury's face.

Fury smiled a bit as the limo drove away.

******


	6. Chapter 6

"You guys can all stay here, there is plenty of room. So many rooms. Many rooms with beautiful things. Many rooms. Much beautiful." Tony gestured expansively.

"I appreciate it," Steve said sincerely. "It's very generous of you." Tony shrugged.

"The best apartments are on this floor," he said, leading them, reveling in showing off his Tower, his space. "And there's enough for each of you to have one. Brucie, how about you here," he pointed, "and Capsicle _here_ , and then Barton and Natasha here and here." Tony grinned, delighted with himself, waiting for them to be delighted as well.

"Thank you, but Clint and I can share," Natasha said smoothly. Clint shrugged, not caring.

Tony's eyebrows shot so high Natasha thought they might disappear into his hairline. His eyes danced. "Ooooooh! I knew they were Ninja Assassin Twins, but it seems that they are also engaged in Ninja Assassin _Twincest_. This is truly the best day of my life." Steve cleared his throat awkwardly as Tony went on. "I'm picturing super athletic, slightly angry, secret agent sex," Tony continued excitedly. "I'm right, aren't I? Oh my God, I AM!"

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. Wordlessly she pushed Clint into the apartment.

Tony waggled his eyebrows at her and called "Have fun! Use protection, kids. Like safety goggles. And gloves!" he added quickly, as she closed the door. She resisted the urge to slam it.

She was a guest, after all.

 

******

 

Natasha found that she liked them, in spite of herself.

 

******

 

Clint wasn't well, wasn't getting better like she had hoped he would.

It had been two weeks since everyone had moved into Stark Tower. "This isn't permanent," she warned Stark. He nodded vigorously, but his smile was knowing. Hopeful.

Her old apartment had been destroyed in the Battle of New York. Bruce had gone with her to sort through the debris. She gathered up some clothes, dug through the mess until she found her few treasures--a picture of flowers that Clint had drawn for her birthday years ago, some letters from the Barton kids, a glass ballerina she had bought at a thrift store. It had reminded her of Russia somehow and was miraculously unbroken. Bruce carried her plant for her back to the Tower. He was easy to be around. She liked him best of their new teammates.  
  
Clint's things had all been on the Helicarrier and destroyed. She took him to buy new clothes. He chose poorly, not caring at all. She scowled at him and put everything back, then picked out things for him herself, as he watched silently.

Clint had spent the first week debriefing endlessly with Shield, and then flatly refused to return to headquarters. "Time to stop hiding," she told him, but he had shrugged and would not go. Natasha had been surprised that Fury allowed it, but it seemed that he wanted them with the Avengers Initiative, and was more than happy to let Barton stay indefinitely at the Tower.

He got along easily with the others, as she knew he would. Everyone always loved Clint. He was friendly with Bruce, charmed Pepper, joked easily with Tony. He was a little more reserved with Steve, and she knew it was because it hurt him a little to look at the man--Phil had loved Captain America, had been over the moon when Steve Rogers was found alive.

They looked at Clint and saw a good guy and of course he was one. But Natasha knew that it was all largely an act; it was his "What a Friendly Guy" mask. The ever ready smile was his defense, making people feel like they were close when he was actually hiding from them. They didn't know that the big grin fell from his face the second their backs turned, the moment he closed the door to the apartment and was only with Natasha. He never had to hide with her.

When he wasn't with the others--performing, Natasha thought grimly to herself--he slept almost all the time. Only ate when she made him. Did not practice with his bow, said he didn't feel like it.

She unashamedly went through his phone and found many ignored calls from Laura, and that's when Natasha went from worried to scared.

 

*******

 

She heard him cry out and gasp for breath, and she ran to his room, her bare feet drumming in time with her pounding heart.

Clint was sitting up in bed, tearing at his chest with clawed fingernails, where Loki had touched him with the sceptor. His eyes were wide, wild, and he struggled to breathe. Natasha grabbed his hands, pulled them away, but he was strong with adrenaline and moved them right back. Ripping through his T-shirt, opening up the scratches he had made other nights. On other nights with the same dream, the same panic attack.

She grabbed his hands again, held them as tightly as she could. "Shhhh, Ptichka," she soothed. "Stop that, stop that." He did, finally, balling his fists and pushing them into the bed, taking unsteady, gasping breaths. She reached up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "It was just a dream," she crooned. "Just a bad dream."

"But it wasn't," he said, and his voice trembled. "It wasn't a dream, Nat, it really happened." She shushed him again and he shook his head violently. Back and forth, back and forth. Pressed his palms hard against his temples, groaning.

"It's over," she said firmly. "It's over now."

"Thirty-nine," he whispered.

"What?" She felt a heavy dread in her stomach.

"Thirty-nine people. I killed thirty-nine people, just at Shield alone."

"Don't do this to yourself. Don't." Natasha wanted to cover his mouth, to keep the words in, because they would hurt. But they were also poisoning him from the inside out, and not slowly.

"Thirty-nine people," he said again, and his eyes were hollow and his face twisted in pain. "And they had lives, and they had families, and I killed them. Thirty-nine people..." He was growing more upset, more desperate, and she took his hands again. Afraid of what he would do with them. "Thirty....thirty-nine people, and...and one of them was Ph-Ph-Phil!"

The last word was a strangled cry, and his hands clenched hers painfully and tears poured down his face as he sobbed, for the first time. Natasha felt tears on her own face.

"No, Clint, no. _Loki_ killed Phil."

"Because of me," came the agonized whisper, and he tore his hands away again and pressed them over his eyes. He rocked back and forth, keening.

Natasha tried to take him in her arms, but he twisted away, didn't want to be held. "Look at me, look at me," she begged. "Clint, stop it, look at me!" He would not. She was crying too, and part of her was astonished. She hadn't even known that she _could_ cry, anymore.

She moved directly in front of him, up high on her knees, looming over him as he sat huddled, small. Natasha reached forward and pressed her hand against his jawline, their old gesture, pulling his face toward hers. "Look at me, look at me," she repeated in a fierce whsiper, until finally he did.

"My heart is broken," Natasha said soflty, "and I see it in your eyes like a mirror." His tears ran into her cupped palm. "But we're alive, Clint. We're still alive. We promised to stay together, always. Remember? Stay with me, Clint. Stay with me now. Be alive with me."

He kept his eyes on hers. Nodded slightly, pressed his face into her hand. His breathing calmed after awhile, the tears stopped. She took a corner of his blanket and wiped his face tenderly.

"Come here," she said, and laid down on the bed, pulling him down with her, his head on her chest, his arms around her.

"Are you sure?" His voice was shaky, muffled. "I'm all sweaty." Giving her an out. Clint knew she did not like others to share her bed. Thinking of her, even now.

"I don't care about that." And she didn't. Stroked his hair in the way she had not been able to do years before, before she had learned that it was okay. That she could show her affection and he would accept it, that he would never ever use it to hurt her.

She murmured comforting, nonsense words to him until they both fell asleep.

 

*****

 

When she woke up he was laying there, curled up on his side, looking at her.

"Morning, Bedhead," he said with a small smile. His voice was scratchy, but there was more life in it.

Natasha stretched. "Hi, you," she said. "How are you today?"

"Okay." His eyes danced away a bit. "I'm okay." Then, "I'm sorry I woke you up last night. And all the nights before."

"I don't care about sleep." She put her hand on his chest, on his heart, could feel the deep scratches under his shirt. "I care about you."

Clint smiled at her, then sighed and rolled onto his back, looking at the ceiling. "I have to go home," he said finally. "It's been too long, I need to go home."

She felt a warm rush of relief. "You should. I know they must be missing you. Laura must be so worried." _Like me._

He sighed again. "And after? I'm not sure what happens after that."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I guess we go back to Shield." He looked uncertain. "But...I'm not sure that I want to. That I can."

Natasha bit her lip. "Have you given any thought to staying here? You know Steve wants us on the team. You heard him say that."

Clint gave an incredulous laugh. "Yeah, he said that, but...but no way." He laughed again. "No way."

"It could be a good thing," she said quietly, and he gave her a sharp look.

"Me, on a team with a bunch of superheroes? I mean, that's a joke. It's a joke."

"And me?" She raised her eyebrows.

"You, now that makes sense. You're tougher than all these guys." He smiled at her, his Natasha smile, the one just for her.

"We stay together," she reminded him. "Where you go, I go. And if that means going back to Shield, then that's what we do."

Clint turned back toward her, on his side. Searched her face, frowning. "You want this," he realized. "You want to stay here, to be an Avenger."

She gave a half shrug, not trusting her voice, but trusting him. Knew he would see it was important, that he would not use her feelings to shame her.

"Huh." He rolled onto his back again, thinking. He was quiet for awhile, then looked at her again. "I told Fury once, doors open both ways. And it's true. You go, I go...and it's not me who has to decide. Ten years ago you followed me into Shield. I can follow you into this."

Her breath caught. She had not dared to hope he would agree. "Don't do it just for me," she warned.

"Why not? It's better than doing it for _me_." He laughed a little. "Laura is going to be so pissed."

"She will be proud." Natasha was smiling, she couldn't help it. Clint saw and smiled back. He looked almost happy, almost like his old self again.

"Do you think they'll pay us?" he asked half jokingly. "I have a family to feed; Hawkeye doesn't work for free."

"We'll work it out with Shield," she said happily, snuggling closer to him. "It's their Initiative, after all."

"There were aliens," he said, "Ugly ones. Big ones. I'm asking for a raise."

She laughed and nodded.

Clint chuckled too, then was quiet. "I'll be the worst one," he said thoughtfully. "The weakest. I'm a great shot, but I'm not a supersoldier, not a god, not a ten foot rage monster. I don't even have a super suit."

She pushed herself up on her elbow, frowned at him. She had never known him to be vain or even very self conscious. "That kind of thing never bothered you before."

He grinned at her. "That's because I was always the best before!" he shot back. "Present company excluded, of course," he added, pinching her arm. He sighed dramatically. "I'll be the worst one," he repeated, but his tone was more joking this time. "I'll probably die the first day, the first fight."

"I'll protect you," she promised with mock solemnity. Tried to imagine it, all of them together. It could be good, she thought.

"You know what else? I'm going to use the bow, use it exclusively. No more guns for Hawkeye." He sat up then and she sat up with him. "Fury says the bow is too high profile, right? But the Avengers..." he trailed off.

"Are nothing _but_ high profile," she finished, and they exchanged mirrored grins.

"Oh yeah, it's gonna be bows and arrows all the time. In fact, I'm going to have a quiver that's half grappling arrows, half explosive arrows. I'm just going to spend entire fights just grappling around and exploding shit. It's going to be amazing."

Natasha laughed happily. "I can't wait to see that." He laughed with her.

They fell quiet agin, thinking. Smiling a little. Natasha reached out and he caught her hand, fingers intertwining. She looked deep into his eyes.

"I love you, Clint."

It was the first time the word had ever come from her mouth.

He took her palm and kissed it.

"I love you, Natasha."

 

******

 

They lay there for a few more hours, talking, planning. Clint was not alright, not yet, but he was better. He was going home, and that would be the final push he needed. Laura would be waiting with open arms, and her love would return him fully to life.

Natasha heard Silverfish's voice in her head-- _You brought him back_ , Doug had said. _Whatever it is, whatever it is the two of you feel for each other, it brought him back._

She would always keep her hand on Clint's shoulder. Would always pull him back from the ledge.

She thought about Phil. He would want them together. He would have been proud to see them as Avengers. She was sure of that.

Natasha thought of her parents, taken from her. Of the family she had built with Clint--Doug and Phil, Laura, the children. The pain of losses old and new. The love for the people she still had left.

Now the hope of another family. Of Bruce and Steve and Tony, and even Thor, wherever he was. Clint beside her, as he always had been.

It was going to be wonderful, she thought.

And it was.

 

 

While it lasted.

 


End file.
